


On The Hunt

by jehans



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Reunited and It Feels So Good, The Search For Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22222984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/pseuds/jehans
Summary: Nat shoots Sam a sidelong, judgy look, but then goes right back to searching for Steve amid the buzz of traffic and city hubbub, and groans.“How are we supposed to track down the Winter Soldier,” she asks, grumpy and hangry, “when Steve keeps disappearing like this?!”Meanwhile, just around the corner from where he left Sam and Nat, in the shadow cast from the building across the narrow street, Steve presses forward until Bucky’s back hits the wall with a small, “Mmm!” that’s caught by Steve’s tongue licking greedily into Bucky’s smiling mouth.---Steve has been looking for any sign of the Winter Soldier, when one day, he gets one.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 159





	On The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeeHan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeHan/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Ji! It's just before midnight my time, so this still counts. Thank you for all of your wonderful art that makes me so happy every day! I hope this fic based on your amazing piece today makes you smile.
> 
> Please go support [LeeHan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeHan/pseuds/LeeHan)!
> 
> (Rated E for later chapters, this chapter is very tame.)

_Monaco_

“Where did Steve go?”

“Huh?”

Sam jerks up from looking down at his phone, where he absolutely was _not_ just watching a video of a cat on Twitter instead of paying any attention whatsoever to their environment, to see that Nat has come back out of the cafe where she was ordering lunch for the three of them, and is shading her eyes to scan the street ahead of them for Steve’s whereabouts.

“Oh,” Sam admits, “I wasn’t looking.”

He was honestly kind of under the impression that Steve was still sitting at the other end of the small cafe table, where his jacket and backpack still wait. Which means he can’t be _that_ far away. Maybe he went inside after Nat to use the restroom or something, Sam is not the boss of Steve.

Nat shoots him a sidelong, judgy look, but then goes right back to searching for Steve amid the buzz of traffic and city hubbub, and groans.

“How are we supposed to track down the Winter Soldier,” she asks, grumpy and hangry, “when Steve keeps disappearing like this?!”

Meanwhile, just around the corner from where he left Sam and Nat, in the shadow cast from the building across the narrow street, Steve presses forward until Bucky’s back hits the wall with a small, “ _Mmm!_ ” that’s caught by Steve’s tongue licking greedily into Bucky’s smiling mouth. He’s got both hands wrapped around the back of Bucky’s neck, thumbs pressed against Bucky’s temples as he holds on for dear life, and Bucky has him wrapped in both arms, one hand pressing against the small of Steve’s back, keeping him exactly where he is, while the other fists in Steve’s t-shirt, starting to ruck it up just a little bit, out of where it’s tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

Steve hasn’t been this happy in a _very_ long time.

Bucky’s mouth is eagerly moving and opening with Steve’s, the enthusiasm of their kiss knocking their teeth together more than they might have if they hadn’t spent so _damn_ long under the assurance that the other was dead, and then separated by deep, unrelenting brainwashing. But these small reunions are huge miracles and they should both be afforded some leeway, Steve thinks, for being a little overly enthusiastic.

They haven’t broken their lips’ contact since Steve slipped around the corner into Bucky’s embrace, and Steve is hungry for more of Bucky, so he finally breaks the kiss to bite and kiss his way down the column of Bucky’s throat instead.

Tilting his head so Steve has greater access, Bucky moans softly.

“ _God_ ,” he breathes, like he has every time they’ve done this so far, “I _missed_ you.”

Steve grins against Bucky’s skin, sinking his teeth in more to elicit another delicious sound from the base of Bucky’s throat.

“You were the one who didn’t show up for three days,” he points out in a low voice, then presses his lips to the bruise he just made.

Bucky scoffs. “Fuck you,” he whispers breathily, and he sounds just like he used to. “You went to fucking _France._ ”

“Because _you_ are in France,” Steve argues.

“I was in Algiers!”

Steve lifts his head and frowns, and Bucky takes the opportunity to press forward and nip at Steve’s ear, slipping one of his gloved hands under Steve’s shirt to paw at him inelegantly.

“You were?” Steve asks slowly, and Bucky hums a confirmation into the kisses he’s leaving at Steve’s pulse point. “Then why are we in Monaco?”

Bucky huffs a laugh into Steve’s hairline and Steve has never heard anything more beautiful in his life.

“Because you’re stupid,” Bucky offers as explanation as he pulls back to smile in fond exasperation at Steve, and Steve feels like this is probably a solid assessment.

To be fair, Nat was off doing her own mission when Sam intercepted the clue Bucky had left for Steve to follow him this time, and Steve was never supposed to be in intelligence, so he did the best he could. The fact that he missed it by over five hundred miles as the crow flies and a few countries isn’t _really_ his fault. Bucky still found him, so it all worked out in the end.

“You _could_ just tell me where you’re going next time,” Steve points out. “Or, even better, just. . .stay with me.”

He’s offered the same every time they’ve done this, and even though he knows the answer, he can’t bring himself to stop offering it up.

But Bucky, just like the other times, sighs and shakes his head.

“Steve —” he begins softly, but Steve starts backtracking immediately.

“No, Buck —” he says, “I’m sorry, you don’t —”

But Bucky interrupts him by pressing forward and catching his mouth in another deep kiss.

“I want to,” Bucky whispers when he pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together, and some kind of thrill runs through Steve at the confession. “I do. I want to stay with you, Stevie, but I can’t. I’m not —” he takes a shaky breath. “I’m not ready to come in, yet. I’m not safe.”

Steve tries not to, he does, but he can’t help it when he breathes back, “I could keep you safe.”

The smile Bucky gives him at that is so desperately sad, Steve just wants to kiss it away. And he tries. Boy, does he try. But it’s still there when he pulls away.

“That’s not what I meant,” Bucky whispers.

Steve winces. He doesn’t want to fuck this up, this thing they’ve been doing. But he can’t deny that he wants _more_. He wants Bucky. Wants to step out of the shadows with Bucky’s hand in his, go home, be _together_ the way they’ve never been allowed to be before, not even before the War.

But he’ll take anything Bucky is willing to give him, and he doesn’t want to fuck this up. Hell, a month ago, he was searching for a ghost story without even being totally certain Bucky was still alive or still _Bucky_. Then, two weeks ago exactly, after Nat had tracked down a lead that took them halfway into Estonia, Steve had been sitting at a cafe not unlike this one, finishing his coffee and quietly trying not to despair at ever finding Bucky again, a fluttering movement caught his eye. There was a paper stuck under the saucer of his cup. A paper that wasn’t there when he set his cup down on the table.

He pulled it out cautiously and opened the single fold to see a star, hand-scribbled in red ink. His heart leapt into his throat and his gaze jerked up, scanning for the one face in the world he wanted to see most.

And, suddenly, there he was. Under the rim of a plain black baseball cap, leaning against the corner of the building just across the street.

_Bucky._

Steve had abandoned his coffee and all his belongings right then and there, barely even glancing around before he darted across the street to follow this man who could very well still be trying to assassinate him into a dark alley.

But _Bucky_ had been there, not the Winter Soldier, and as Steve rushed to him, he’d taken his hands out of the pockets of his jacket and _reached out_ for Steve. And Steve just fell into his arms like they had done this yesterday, not just under eighty years ago, and Bucky had kissed him. Held him. Pushed him up against the wall and _devoured_ him until both of them had tears running down their faces, nuzzling into each other like maybe if they pressed hard enough, they wouldn’t have to part.

But they did, of course. And with barely a word exchanged.

(Just _I love you_ , over and over, spilling from Steve’s lips, and once from Bucky: _I love you, too, Stevie._ )

After that, though Steve was worried that that was all Bucky was ready to give him, another lead. Another country. Another cafe. And three sharp taps on the wall behind him before Steve got up and slipped away from Nat and Sam again and found Bucky. And then again. And again. And now, two weeks later, a fucking _pebble_ lands straight in the coffee Steve was lifting to his lips, and Sam didn’t even notice him stand up and walk immediately around the corner to make out with the elusive love of his absolute life.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Steve finally murmurs into Bucky’s lips. “But you don’t have to be scared.”

Bucky makes an unconvinced huffing sound and Steve pulls all the way away from his reach, as Bucky tries to chase his kiss, to look directly into those deep blue eyes he knows so fucking well.

“You don’t,” Steve insists. “I’d do anything to stay with you,” he whispers a vow. “I’d follow you anywhere, you know that? Do you?” he presses when Bucky’s mouth twists into a wry expression. Steve reaches up and cups his gorgeous, too-thin face in one big hand. “Do you have _any_ idea what I’d do for you, Buck? You know that nothing has changed for me, right? I still love you more than anything.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, and there’s something shining around his eyelids when he asks, “How?”

Steve frowns. “How?” he repeats incredulously. He leans their foreheads together and closes his eyes as he brushes his nose against Bucky’s trying with everything in his being to convince Bucky that this is true. “How the fuck could I not?”

And Bucky surges forwards again, kissing Steve hard and desperate. And despite everything — all the pain and the grief and the longing for so _fucking_ long — Steve smiles. Because right now, in this moment, he has everything he could ever, ever want.

Eventually, Bucky’s fervent kissing slows to a soft, tender, familiar press of lips. Once. Twice. Three times. And then Bucky sighs, the warmth of his breath ghosting across Steve’s lips, and sniffs.

“I was thinking Romania,” he says then, abruptly.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. This is the first time Bucky has given him any verbal indication whatsoever of his plans.

“Yeah?”

Bucky nods, leaning back against the wall and pulling Steve with him, tucking both of his hands under Steve’s shirt.

“Yeah,” he confirms softly. “I think I’ve finally gotten far enough off the radar I can maybe. . . _stay_ somewhere for a while.”

God, _that’s_ a thought. Not having to chase him all over the world. Maybe just. . .visiting him.

“Why Romania?” Steve asks, ducking in to press a sweet kiss to Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky shrugs, turning his head into Steve’s kiss. “It’s low-profile,” he says, “Hydra doesn’t have a lot of operations there, nice people. I speak the language.”

“You speak Romanian?” Steve asks, surprised.

Bucky snorts. “I speak over thirty languages, Steve.”

Steve pulls back to stare openly at Bucky. “Wow, that’s so hot,” he breathes, and Bucky actually laughs.

“Yeah, well,” he says, “for someone who can only _understand_ French —”

“Hey, now,” Steve argues, “I’ll have you know I can say over nine small phrases in French!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, that’s very impressive,” Bucky teases, grinning and leaning in to kiss him again.

They stay like this for as long as they can, until Steve can hear Sam’s voice actually raising in volume to call for him. He and Nat are seconds from actually coming to _look_ for Steve, so they have to stop, and Bucky has to go.

This part always hurts, no matter what.

Bucky pulls the glove off his right hand to quietly stroke his thumb over Steve’s cheek and they share one last, lingering kiss.

And then comes the part where Bucky slips the hat back on, and the glove, and disappears down the street, back into the crowd. The part Steve absolutely hates.

Except this time, unlike every other time, right before Bucky slips away, he grabs Steve’s hand and squeezes, leaning in to whisper in Steve’s ear.

“See you in Bucharest.”

And then he’s gone. But tucked into Steve’s palm is a small, folded scrap of paper. And scrawled over the scrap of paper is an address.

An address in Bucharest.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first fic of the year! And also since before NaNoWriMo started, which was a big deal for me and then I had to take a month off from writing because I was exhausted lol. A new episode of [Hand to Hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19147687) (my post-Endgame, Falcon and Winter Soldier show fix-it where Steve and Bucky are married and Sam and Bucky share Captain America duties), will be coming very soon!
> 
> Thank you for reading. Come say hi on Twitter if you feel like it! @apblaidd And leave me a comment if you liked this!


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